


Crowleys Anonymous

by IneffableAlien



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 12 Step Programs, 1992 Movie Script Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Gen, Parallel Universes, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: The boys meet 1992moviescript!Crowley.
Comments: 42
Kudos: 153





	Crowleys Anonymous

Would it really surprise you to learn that they all got together sometimes?

There are more things in heaven and earth, after all.

They had stopped questioning it millennia ago. Maybe it was alternate universes. Maybe it was “timey-wimey” stuff. The first dozen times had been completely by accident, during those events when humans like Anathema might say “the veil” was thinnest, or occasionally when weird things were going on with stars. Eventually, they had started experimenting to devise ways to summon one another to one space. They didn’t love each other’s company, mind you, but sometimes you needed somebody to talk to who could understand you.

Three different Crowleys, from across time and space, had essentially formed a support group for being Crowley.

(They had no idea if anything similar happened with the angels. They had thought it wise to keep this one thing to themselves.)

Ironically, the dimension they had crafted resembled a church basement, because they’d all simultaneously assumed that was where you did this sort of thing. (They chose to imagine that it was nicely desecrated.) The whole thing looked rather like an AA meeting, without all that pesky sobriety talk.

What they’d discovered was that their respective universes functioned on different timelines, but that large-scale events like the End of the World apparently sat at parallel points. The pretty Crowley with glossy black hair, who smoked and looked like he might be on SeekingArrangement.com, had gone through the terror of potential Armageddon in 1990. He was nervously fidgeting with his Motorola pager, to have something to do with his hands.

The other two demons wore corporations presenting more like men in their fifties. To pretty little sugar baby’s right, the tallest of the three had short dark hair, a strong jaw, and looked like the sort of human who might have been fired from the tenure-track when he got caught answering sugar baby’s ad. On the baby’s left was a scowling ginger-haired demon who did not so much sit in his chair, as barely restrain his body from slithering onto the floor.

“And then,” said ginger miserably, “he had the nerve to say that maybe I ought to go easier on them after all they’ve been through! Well, _he_ certainly didn’t seem too worried about mentally scarring them at the time!”

“Whooo-eee,” said the baby, “that is a lot. Back up, though, I think I missed why you got so mad at the peach tree.”

_“Because it’s a wanton little—”_

All three heads whipped around as a fourth demon was seemingly coughed out onto the floor through a portal of stars, which winked out of existence as instantly as it had appeared.

“Excuse me!” said tall Crowley, standing defensively. “This liminal space is a private function!” His voice was deep and sensual, and would have been perfect for a career in radio, or at least a couple ASMR videos on YouTube.

The interloper quickly got up and dusted off his all-black suit. It was a surprisingly fluid motion for someone who had just landed on his face. The demon oozed the sort of put-on cool of a human who didn’t die when he was 27 and was disappointed about it. His sunglasses had come off when he fell, and he scooped them up to put them back on, but not before the others had seen. And the second they saw snake eyes, they’d collectively Looked, and then they had _truly_ Seen.

“Huh,” ginger Crowley articulated.

“What?” wondered sugar baby, to no one.

“Great,” tall Crowley/sexy voice murmured, sitting back down, “that’s just what we need.”

“All right,” said the newcomer happily. “It looks like someone released me! Humans finally got something right.” He took a moment to look about the room, then flashed an oddly cold smile. He slid down in a fourth folding chair in the circle, which may or may not have been there twenty seconds earlier. “But really, guys? All the power we have at our disposal, and you make a _basement?_ I could whip us up a nightclub, you know, just by imagining mine …”

“Why on earth do you have a nightclub?” ginger snapped.1 None of the three looked thrilled by this new development, but it appeared that he was having it least of all.

“Oh, I don’t know,” tall Crowley said slowly, “it _could_ be interesting.”

“Eh, what’s it like?” sugar baby asked.

The new Crowley put his palms up, as if he was pitching a TV show. “Oh, it’s great,” he said. “Real finger-on-the-pulse, real on-trend. And we keep it sexy. Nice little bimbo cocktail waitresses, slutty devil costumes, you know … We have fun with it.”

The original Crowley cluster stared. Baby Crowley’s lips were drawn back to one side, his face standing at the corner of grossed-out and secondhand embarrassment. Tall Crowley’s jaw hung slightly. Ginger Crowley’s expression had not changed at all, yet every part of him seemed coiled deadly tight.

“I think I’m starting to understand why this guy was locked away somewhere,” tall Crowley mumbled sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” baby Crowley interrupted, “but I can’t picture Aziraphale in that environment.”

“The angel never really was one for coming over,” tall Crowley mused. “I suppose you spend a lot of time at the bookshop.”

Ginger Crowley remained silent.

“What bookshop?” said nightclub.

There were varying horrified noises. Three Crowleys looked scandalized.

“You,” tall Crowley started, “you do … spend time with the angel, don’t you?”

Nightclub Crowley kicked back in his chair. “I guess,” he said dispassionately. “Not so much now that we saved the world.” (Ginger Crowley scoffed at this.) “You know, I don’t think he’s ever really forgiven me for Alpha Centauri.”

Tall Crowley and baby Crowley exchanged glances, looking puzzled. _“Alpha Centauri?”_ the tall one whispered. Baby shrugged.

Ginger Crowley leaned forward menacingly. _“What_ about _Alpha Centauri?”_ he hissed.

Nightclub Crowley examined his fingers, looking bored. “When I thought I was done for,” he said, making a vague gesture. “He caught me ready to make a run for it, I might have said some things, he got all emotional.” Here he adopted a mocking tone: _“‘I thought we were friends.’_ Angels, am I right?”

Baby Crowley, cute little thing that he was, was still a demon, and much faster and stronger than he looked. The human eye could not have perceived the speed at which two things happened next at once: ginger Crowley lunged from his chair, and baby Crowley tackled him to the floor. _“He’ssssssss_ not worth it!” hissed the baby, flicking his hair from his eyes.2

“You should have let him,” tall Crowley said wryly. “It would have been hilarious.”

Nightclub blinked, staring at the two on the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ginger Crowley had lost his sunglasses, and his irises were bleeding yellow across his sclera from wrath in real time. “Let me up!” he snarled.

Baby Crowley eased off the redhead, but not before the tallest of the three stood and stepped between them and the intruder. He felt oddly protective of the idiots at times—big “dad friend” energy, as it were. _“Lissssssssten_ here, demon,” he said quietly. “We’ve done a lot of things, not all things we’re proud of, cowardly things. But one thing we do _not_ do, is abandon our angels at the End of the World.”

The Crowleys who were on the floor scrabbled to their feet. “So what do we do with him?” baby Crowley asked.

The rage-eyed Crowley who stood beside him smiled too wide and too sharp. _“Leave it to me,”_ he growled.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 The author wishes to note that not a single reader has ever commented on this pun. Seriously, people? Those two words have got to be the funniest thing I ever wrote.
> 
> 2 Commenters have, however, asked me why baby Crowley stopped him. It is not because baby cares about nightclub, it is because baby is ginger's anger management sponsor, and ginger had been doing _so_ well.
> 
> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
